Shackles
by Azalea Drifter
Summary: SSHG MLC fic. HBP spoilers, beware. Hermione is wed to the social leper Severus Snape. Unable to overcome their hate so they can cohabitate, is this marriage doomed from the start?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me. It is the rightful property of J.K. Rowling.

This is a rip-off of the Marriage Law Challenge by WIKTT. It's stuffed with spoilers from the Half-Blood Prince, so please, don't complain and tell me that you haven't read it yet and I ruined it for you. Such is life.

* * *

The news spread like wildfire throughout the country.

You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Lord Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle, whatever you cared to call him, he was dead.

No one knew how, no one could offer a solid explination of how the antagonist's demise was met. Only a very small group of people knew the truth and even then, they did not know the whole of it.

If they could, they probably would have asked the illustrious Harry Potter, or his accomplices Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. But such a conversation was not to take place, for an indeterminate amount of time, at least. All three were in some kind of a cursed coma, which healers at St.Mungo's were at a loss to explain, let alone cure.

But what was one of the biggest shocks of the whole event was that Draco Malfoy was in the next ward with a similar condition. The foursome were found in a muggle graveyard, everyone around them dead except for those four.

As far as anyone could piece together, after having found the rest of the Horcruxes, Harry Potter sought Voldemort out, ready for the final showdown. Hermione Granger and of course, Ron Weasley were at his side, despite his pleading for them to leave. But they would not, could not leave their Harry. Not after all they'd been through, and most certainly not after all they've done.

The details of the event were impossible to verify, as many had taken to over exaggerating or adding their own details during their retelling of the epic, as if the actual event had not been interesting enough. But the one conclusion that everyone could come to was that Harry Potter had seemingly given up his life, his ability to interact with the outside world, in order to save the Wizarding World.

And for that, he was a hero.

While witches and wizards everywhere celebrated, the Order of the Phoenix staggered into the reality of what happened. Ronald Weasley was missing his right arm, thanks to a well-aimed sectumsempra. Hermione Granger had been hit by a curse that they had been yet unable to diagnose. She lay in the same ward as her two friends, heavily drugged into a peaceful sleep, as they all unknowingly awaited their fates.

But they were by no means alone. Everyone from Molly Weasley to the Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour crammed into the ward, much to protest of the St. Mungo's healers, to mourn and revere these three.

The wizarding community had lost so much recently that although the threat of Voldemort was gone, the aftermath dealt a heavy blow to them. After the death of Albus Dumbledore, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had never reopened. Instead, the Board of Directors had elected to close it for an indefinite amount of time.

The professors had taken their own separate routes. Some, like Professor Horace Slughorn and Professor Trelawney, had gone into hiding. Others, like Professor McGonagall, Madam Promfrey, Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick had joined forces with the Order and tried to lessen the attacks of the Death Eaters and provide support for those who had been hurt. And lastly, there was Professor Snape.

He was sore subject, as he should be. A letter, left strategically in the third drawer on the left hand side of Albus Dumbledore's desk had been found a few months after his death. In it was a detailed contingency plan, a plan that outlined what Albus wanted to happen if there should need to make a choice.

It gave Professor Severus Snape permission to kill him, should the need arise.

Many speculated that the letter was a fake, a ruse planted by the former Head of Slytherin in an attempt to save his own sallow skin. But upon further analysis , experts concluded that the document was indeed authentic, much to the shock and horror of the populace.

Although this discovery allowed Snape to walk free, he was generally despised by all. Even his old colleagues could no longer look him in the eye. No one knew where he is now, and honestly, no one much cared as long as he wasn't around them.

Rufus Scrimgeour turned away from a sobbing Ginny Weasley, looking slightly put-off. He had only tried to comfort her, how was he to know she would be so touchy? He didn't have much time to contemplate it, because before he knew it, several prominent St. Mungo's Healers who seemed very anxious to have a word with him, were escorting him from the ward.

They ushered him into of the customary bland offices littered around the hospital and sat him down. They had been requesting a meeting for months, and Scrimgeour had been deliberately evading them. After all, he had much bigger things than a bunch of healers complaining about budget decreases. There simply wasn't enough money to go around, there wasn't anything he could do about that. The war took most of the funds that they did have left.

But it turned out, they had much more they wanted to discuss than budget. Scrimgeour gazed out of the small window out into the crowded streets below, with a glazed expression on his face. He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

* * *

A/N: This is my first fic, be merciful, I beg you.

(edited July 31st 2005)

--Azalea


	2. Chapter 2

Scrimgeour poised his quill over the vulgar document which he was about to make into law. It was one of those things that could either make or break his career and he knew that if he had been anyone else than the Minister who helped defeat Voldemort, this would most certainly break him. But seeing as he was, he was seriously considering putting this bill into law.

And he didn't have much time left to decide.

At midnight, all of the emergency law-making powers granted to him would then be void. Which meant, in a few short hours, he will have made one of the largest decisions he had ever been faced with.

The healers at St. Mungo's had disturbing news. The great wizarding world that he was so accustomed to, was merely a fraction of what he thought. Wizards and witches had been dropping like flies. At a rate of at least 10 dead a day, and not including muggles, it's not surpising that population was down so low.

Mostly purebloods had survived, followed by a substantial number of half-bloods. The amount of muggleborns was so pitiful, the Minister felt a pang of disgrace. But the problem lay not in who had survived, but the future witches and wizards.

Something had to be done before the wizarding race killed and bred itself into oblivion. Recent studies conducted by St.Mungo's concluded that there was a shocking increase in squib births, miscarriages, and physical deformities in infants. This has been attributed to the social stigmas of purebloods: their refusal to marry anyone except their own.

And of course there were outside elements to it, witches today weren't nearly as careful as they should be. If they actually decided to carry the child to term, there were a number of potions, charms, and transfigurations that they could be commonly subjected to that would hurt the child. Most mothers-to-be didn't even consider it, they were so secure in their knowledge that a simple jelly-legs charm could never harm them.

What the St.Mungo's healers were suggesting was drastic, so drastic that there was no other way to carry out but with an iron fist. They had to be firm, this had to be done, and when it was all through, they would look back and be grateful.

The scratching of quill on parchment was heard and so the fate of many was sealed.

* * *

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and soon the steady stream of visitors narrowed down to the hysterically fanatic and the lovingly devoted. A bereaved Molly Weasley, who had not long ago lost her husband and eldest son, could be seen sitting by the threesome's beds. She wasn't foolish enough to think that her mere presence could be sensed by them, but deep in her heart, she hoped so.

It was a day like any other and Molly Weasley had arrived at the start of visiting hours, as she always did. Charlie had returned from Romania to help the family, to keep things running smoothly. The twins also helped as much as they could, but their business was busy and they all needed those two to work so they could keep the Burrow.

Opening a copy of the Prophet, she scanned the pages diligently. When the news of the Repopulation Law had been announced, she had staunchly refused to read the paper any longer. But once she had calmed down, she reasoned that it was better to know then to be caught unawares.

Deeply into her reading, she silently thanked whatever god there might be that none of her children had been selected yet. A soft groan reached her ears, but she ignored it, continuing her reading. This was a hospital, such noises were common.

But finally, some rustling heard across the room caused Molly to fling herself out of her chair in anticipation. Her eyes glistened with tears as she hopefully gazed at her son's bed, where his form still lay quietly. She shifted her gaze to Harry's bed, where he lay the same. Finally, she looked at Hermione, who was not in the position which the healers had put her in.

She walked staggeringly to Hermione's bed where she noticed miniscule movements; Hermione was moving as if she did not exactly remember how to. Molly felt doubt rise within her, Hermione was just moving in that cursed sleep. Granted, it had never happened before, but Hermione was not awake, either.

"Hermione?" she whispered softly, leaning over the girl's inert form. To her abject surprise, Hermione moved sharply, her head tossing to the opposite side.

"Oh Merlin. Hermione? Hermione?" Molly put her hand on Hermione's shoulder, excitement racing through her every cell.

"Mmmmm," was Hermione's articulate response.

"Oh Ceres, Healer Kay, Healer Kay!" Molly called, running as well as she could to the door. A tall, disgustingly thin and scrawny man approached the door, his pristine white coat contradicting his long, unkempt hair.

"Yes, what is it?" asked the healer, in a tone that obviously implied he had better things to do that chect, yet again, for life in three seemingly braindead patients.

"She moved! Hermione, she moved!" She said rapidly as she half-dragged the healer towards the bed on the far end of the room.

Healer Kay let out a long-suffering sigh and resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to examine her. He raised his wand and muttered several long incantations, looking bored. In fact, his eyes kept drooping shut, though that might have been him exerting his more dramatic flair rather than actual exhaustion.

But upon seeing the pulsing glow at the end of his wand, Healer Kay suddenly looked considerably more alert. '"What..." he said in a soft, disbelieving tone, "what have you done?"

Molly Weasley suddenly looked very panicked, and a light sweat broke out on her forehead. "What have I done? Is something wrong? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" she said before getting cut off by the healer.

He shook his shaggy head and said, "No, no Mrs. Weasley. Nothing's wrong. It's just that...I don't understand."

Unaware of it, her jaw dropped a few inches as she stared intensely at Hermione in the bed. "What's the problem, then?" she asked finally.

Healer Kay seemed to enjoy putting on the suspense, because he took of his glasses and cleaned them slowly on his white jacket. "She seems to be, well that is, I mean to say," he said, as if he were musing aloud, "the young woman in question, well, I can tell by her charts that she hasn't shown any activity since the night of August 31st."

"Yes, yes, I know that," replied Molly Weasley impatiently.

"Yes, well, you can obviously see what the spell has concluded, I suppose. You don't need me to go through it," he said slyly, gesturing with his hands in a vague motion.

Molly Weasley resisted the urge to stomp her foot in frustration. She was a grown woman, so of course she wouldn't do it, but that didn't mean she didn't want to break a few of that healer's toes. "Please, Healer Kay, do explain," she said through gritted teeth, although her tone somehow managed to sound pleasant. Molly blamed it on too many years dealing with ministry officials.

Healer Kay smiled widely. "The spell I used, _cerebrum motus_, measures brain activity in comatose patients, which is the major concern, of course." He took a few breaths and glanced around the ward. "The patient in question, Hermione Granger, was tested with _cerebrum motus_ and was found to have a normal brain activity levels."

Beaming from ear to ear, Molly asked, "does that mean she'll wake up?"

One side of Healer Kay's face quirked up. "Yes, she very well could." He adjusted his grip on his wand and mumured, "_ennervate._"

Hermione's eyelids fluttered, giving a hint to some movement beneath them. Her tongue flicked out to wet her chapped lips and her head turned slightly. She looked like she was concentrating on something intensely and her eyelids continued to remain shut, although they twitched and crinkled.

Mrs. Weasley watched all this intently, wondering what in Merlin's name could be going on. After a few moments, her face took on an expression of sudden comprehension. "Healer, she can't open her eyes, they're stuck shut."

Kay, who was formerly looking rather puzzled though he was trying to hide it, dusted off his white jacket nonchalantly. "Oh, yes, right then. I knew that, I was just waiting to see if her, erm, tears would help," he lied, before turning on the heel of his shoes and striding out of the ward.

It was only a few moments before he returned with a small vial in hand and was putting a few droplets of the concoction on Hermione's eyelashes. It seemed like a lifetime, but finally, her eyes opened widely. She looked around frantically, as if just remembering something, but soon realized that the bright ward room was too much for her sensitive eyes to handle. Her eyes shut again.

Mrs. Weasley looked heartbroken as her eyes shut again. She moved her hand over Hermione's in a soft caress and jumped slightly as Hermione's hand clasped her one gently. "Mrs. Weasley?" a soft voice inquired.

"Yes, dear?" Molly croaked out.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Hermione mumured, tears spilling out her thick-lashed eyes.

"No, dear, there's nothing to be sorry for!" Molly exclaimed as she put the bed rail down and drew Hermione into her arms. Healer Kay threw her a look and Molly responded with her infamous glare, which resulted in the healer leaving the ward quickly.

"I hadn't meant to," Hermione yawned greatly, drowning out whatever else she had meant to say.

"Of course dear, of course." Molly said soothingly, running her hand across Hermione's gnarled and knotted hair. The healer's at St. Mungo's weren't exactly known for their beautician skills, so although Hermione's hair was clean, it wasn't quite as tidy as would be preferred.

"The blinds?" asked Hermione.

"Oh yes," answered Molly, drawing the blinds and dimming the room. Hermione warily opened her eyes, which teared but didn't shut.

Hermione looked sadly over at Harry and Ron's beds. "How long?" she said, her voice raspy from disuse.

"5 months, 2 weeks and 4 days exactly," Molly replied, trying to sound as if she hadn't been counting every moment since that fateful day.

A soft exhalation came from Hermione then she bit her lower lip in trepidation. "How is...everyone?" she asked slowly, her expression belying the fact that she knew she might not like the answer.

"As well as can be. Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry, you see..." Mrs. Weasley said consolingly. "Your parents, they didn't survive."

Hermione was sent into a coughing fit, her lungs unable to successfully sob. Tears streamed down her face as she mumured, half to herself, "I told them I'd protect them. That they didn't need to worry at all, I'd see them in two weeks. I told them..." She stopped shortly, hugging herself with some difficulty.

"Hermione, no, it wasn't your fault at all. _We_ were supposed to. But we couldn't be everywhere at once and with the end of the war everyone assumed we would be safe. I am so sorry Hermione. So very, very sorry," Mrs. Weasley whispered into Hermione's ear as she hugged her in that maternal way.

After a few minutes of full-blown crying, Hermione managed to get out, "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do anymore." She had woken up to her own personal hell. Her family was dead and her best friends a breath away from it.

"You'll come home with me. Bill's at home and Ginny. Ginny will be so happy to see you! And the twins, they'll be thrilled. There are so many people here for you Hermione," Molly said kindly, smiling at Hermione. "This is a happy day for me Hermione. We've lost so much, but we have you back. That means so much to me, Hermione."

Truly and honestly touched, Hermione managed a smile that vaugely reminded Mrs. Weasley of the days before the war had begun to take it's toll on the exuberant young lady. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

"Now, let's get you dressed," Molly Weasley said as she began to fuss over Hermione like a mother hen.

A/N: I hoped you all liked it, it gets much more interesting from here. I've got some trouble planned (as always).

R/R

--Azalea


End file.
